


The Prodigy Path

by Imagining_in_the_Margins



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Spencer Reid, Children, Comfort, Dad!Spencer Reid, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Education, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mom!Reader, Protective Parents, Self-Insert, Special education, oc child - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29185179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_in_the_Margins/pseuds/Imagining_in_the_Margins
Summary: At a parent teacher conference, Spencer and Reader explain their seemingly unorthodox parenting style.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 107





	The Prodigy Path

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: SpEd, education, teachers, arguing, crying 
> 
> This is very much based off a memory I have of me and my parents as a child (my father and I are both Autistic - he also has multiple degrees!). As such, the daughter is also Autistic-coded. I hope you enjoy Protective Dad!Spencer!

My husband has many tells. His emotions are clearly displayed in every inch of his existence if you care enough to look, even for someone average like me. Which is why I knew before we even made it into the classroom that he was nervous. With bouncing legs and fingers cracking as he pushed curled fists against his jaw to try and hide the way his lip quivered with unspoken thoughts.

There was nothing I could say to make an elementary school a more comfortable place for him. They were nothing but a constant reminder of a childhood filled with teachers, therapists, lawyers, and doctors. A collection of professionals with one shared goal of using a little boy to achieve whatever they needed to. All justified with the belief that later, he would understand. He would be grateful.

But that wasn’t how it happened. If any of them had checked in on the boy genius after he stopped being ‘ _useful_ ’, maybe they would have figured it out.

“Are you alright, Spencer?”

I already knew the answer. I also knew he would lie. Just a harmless little nod of his head to maintain whatever calming effects he could from the blatant attempts at self-soothing. He was already used to having to stock up on good feelings as much as he could, acutely aware of how important it was to rid himself of any sign of discomfort or anything even slightly resembling the word ‘ _no_ ’ before the teacher came.

Which is exactly what happened. When our names were called, his back straightened and his hands, still balled in fists, fell like heavy rocks to his side. Everything about him when we finally made our way to the two small chairs in the teacher’s office felt cold and clinical. Nothing like the lively, bubbly man I knew.

I understood why, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch. The poor woman on the other side of the desk wouldn’t get it, though. All she saw was an arrogant man who thought himself too good for a place like this.

If only people could see what I did. I think they would be kinder when they looked at him.

“Well, Dr. and Mrs. Reid, it should come as no surprise to you that your daughter performed exceptionally on the competency tests that we gave her as part of her IEP. She’s very bright,” she started.

A bad start. 

“She’s good at tests,” Spencer corrected with finality.

The teacher wasn’t going to argue, although I got the feeling she missed the importance of the distinction. That competency, ‘ _bright_ ness,’ and performance were all very different things.

“Very much so,” she laughed. The kind of laugh that hides a deep discomfort. It wasn’t entirely her fault; talking to Spencer when he was like this was very much like arguing with a brick wall that somehow still outsmarted you.

“Her… ability to perform well is actually why I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of switching her to a more advanced classro—”

Spencer cut in swiftly, once again with a steel jaw and biting sound, “We’d have to ask her.”

“Of course, her opinion is very important but—”

“It is the _only_ thing that matters to me.”

From the unintentional sidelines, I watched the exchange like one might watch a collision from the passenger seat. Perhaps it might be possible to grab the steering wheel, to try and prevent what I thought was coming. But that came with different risks; of overcorrecting him past the point of self-preservation. We would still crash, and he would also know that I didn’t trust him to fix the problem himself.

“I find that a lot of kids don’t really understand the long term consequences of a decision like this,” the teacher explained, folding her fingers together tightly. As her knuckles blanched, I felt the tension that I knew would form in Spencer’s gut at the implication that he hadn’t thought of any of her concerns first. As if he hadn’t thought of them 30 years ago. As if he hadn’t lived through the decision being made for him.

“Well, I do,” he said, trying and failing to control the tilt in his voice from turning to outright hostility, “I know what the consequences are, and I also know my daughter, and I know that she’s smart enough to figure it out for herself.”

Then it happened. The thing I was waiting for.

The woman turned to me, the other one in the room like her. Not a genius, Agent, or doctor. Just a plain, average Jane.

“What do you think, Mrs. Reid?”

But I couldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear. She didn’t know him like I did.

“I think my husband knows these things better than me,” I laughed, nervous and cautious before I added, “And I trust my daughter.”

Her face fell when she reached the conclusion she ought to have expected. I would be no more help to her than the useless sheet of statistics in front of her, urging her to convince us to acknowledge that our daughter could accomplish more if only we would let her.

I felt her compassion, but all that Spencer would hear was the condescension that certainly did exist underneath it all.

“She’s only seven.”

“Ted Kaczynski was eleven when his family allowed him to skip a grade, which he later described as one of the pivotal moments in his life that led to him becoming a domestic terrorist.”

The tension in the room was so thick that I felt like I couldn’t breathe. And if the increasing force behind every breath in Spencer’s chest was any indication, he was suffocating all the same.

“I’m sure that you wouldn’t allow that to happen to your child. You skipped several grades to my knowledge, and you turned out to be very accomplished,” she offered with a hand outstretched and shaking under the weight of the vitriol Spencer was spewing into the room.

It wasn’t her fault, but we couldn’t explain it to her. Not when Spencer was too scared to even raise a hand while he spoke. Too paralyzed in perfect, acceptable posture and hidden twitches of his fingers.

“Accomplished isn’t an objective test determined by IQ points or degrees. The only kind of accomplishment I want for my daughter is the ability to make decisions for herself,” he said, his voice growing louder and cracking between strained cords, “To choose her own path and future, and to never let anyone tell her what she has to be just because it would benefit them.”

Once again, the room fell silent. I watched as the teacher slowly removed the shocked, disturbed expression from her face and replace it with the more appropriate sympathy. Unfortunately, my husband also has a tendency to cling to whatever he perceives as the more genuine truth.

Worded slightly differently: my husband holds onto grudges for dear life.

“Dr. Reid, I don’t mean to offend you. I just want you to understand she is capable of more than this—”

It was the end of the line. I’d chosen not to grab the steering wheel, and I could see now that it had been a mistake. I’d missed the way he was struggling to maintain control on his own and now it was too late. By the time he stood up from his chair, he was too far away for me to grab hold of his hand and rub soothing circles to bring him back. He was already on his way out, readjusting his suit jacket that must have felt similar to restraints from his past.

“Then I’m sure that she is better equipped to make the decision for herself than _you_ are.”

The door shut, not slammed, but just enough to make his absence known. Two shaky breaths were released at once, and the two of us left behind in the wake of his anxiety exchanged a knowing set of silent glances.

“My daughter is very bright,” I finally said, hoping to explain my husband’s good heart in only a few words. Unfortunately, there was no way to do that. So, instead, I drummed up all the courage I could and added, “But so is my husband.”

“I never implied anything different.”

She hadn’t, but she had. In her own way, she’d questioned the only one of us who truly understood what it was like to be so stunningly different. Odd enough that it sometimes felt like they were the only two people on Earth like them. And while our daughter had her father, Spencer wasn’t so lucky.

He had been alone for as long as he could remember, which was a terribly long time.

“The things we experience in elementary school stay with us. Being a kid means that you have no power. Everything is decided for you,” I tried. The words didn’t sound right. But I kept going, wishing more than anything to have the same proficiency at language in this moment, even though I knew she still wouldn’t have understood me then.

“My daughter may get to pick skirts or slacks, but no matter what she chooses, they still have to be khaki or navy.”

“I don’t think this is about uniforms, Mrs. Reid.”

“Because it’s not,” I agreed. And unlike Spencer, my hands were free to move and collapse tired over my heart. Hopefully, it served as a visual representation of how intensely I felt and believed the words that followed.

“I’m not as smart as my husband or my daughter. I won’t ever be able to understand what it’s like to be both the youngest and smartest person in the room, but I can’t imagine it’s easy.”

Again, I felt the empathy she tried to project. I understood it because her and I spoke the same language. She could look at me and know that I only wanted what was best for my family without requiring the extra steps that were required to understand my husband.

“The children here are very used to prodigies,” she posited sincerely, trying to rebuild a bridge that had already started to burn, “It’s not like public school. It wouldn’t be like it was with him.”

But that was precisely the problem. This was just another unknown, one which we’ve only seen result in negative outcomes. If it had been mine or Spencer’s life on the line, we might have taken the chance. But it wasn’t about us.

“I don’t care if the chance is minuscule that she’ll be hurt by this decision, because there is still a risk there. And if I put her in that position even though she didn’t want to, I would hate myself for it.”

I could sense the judgment before she spoke. That didn’t stop her from saying it, though.

“You can’t shelter her from the world.”

As my blood began to boil, I looked at the space that stretched between us. I stared at the bridge embroiled in flames and realized that Spencer was right to light the fire. Because the truth was that she wasn’t giving us any new information. She had simply chosen to prioritize the potential of a child over the life that already existed in front of her.

And no matter how hard anyone tried, we just weren’t willing to do that to our daughter.

“You’re right,” I laughed, because I really found it funny how easy the answer seemed, “But I can let her choose for herself and support her choices even when they hurt me. Being smart shouldn’t be a death sentence for a normal childhood.”

“She won’t ever have a normal childhood.”

But what was normal, anyway? Was it something I even wanted my daughter to have? If it meant blindly following the path laid out for her by test results and authority figures, I wasn’t so sure. Above all, I just wanted her to be happy. The way that Spencer was never allowed to be. So I also stood from my chair with feet desperate to find him, and a relieved smile that accompanied the light feeling in my heart. I took a deep breath as I looked at the telltale symbols of childhood that didn’t fill me with fear or anxiety.

“Well, I’m willing to let her try,” I said quietly but confidently, “I think she can figure it out.”

The trip to the car felt so far knowing that Spencer was there alone. I tried to step faster, eventually just breaking out into a strange half-jog regardless of the odd stares. It didn’t matter to me what anyone else thought about our strange, imperfect family. Because I knew that as soon as we had our hands together, everything would be okay.

But things weren’t okay when I found him. He was slumped over the dash of the passenger seat, his suit jacket scrunched over his shoulders because he was too tired to even bother taking it off despite the discomfort. I heard the rage behind the nearly silent sniffles, and as soon as he heard the door shut for the last time, he didn’t hold back the words any longer.

“They really expected us to make that decision without even asking her?” he spat, clenching his teeth any time he was given the chance.

“I know,” I whispered back with a hand on his shoulder. I felt the tension start to fade away the longer the warmth sunk through the fabric. But then it was too much, and he shot up from his spot with arms that had come back to life after being held down for too long. 

“It’s her life! She’s not just... just a tool for their rankings or a trophy for their wall!”

Tears stung at my eyes just from seeing the red lining his, and I wondered how much he’d feared this day. How long he had seen it coming and held back concerns because he wasn’t entirely sure what it would mean for all of us. But he’d miscalculated. He’d underestimated just how much it would hurt to see the same thing he’d experienced happening to someone he loved. That fury, that despair and desperation, exploded from him like gas thrown on a fire. “She’s a _person_! She’s my little girl!”

It was no surprise to me when the tears started to flow again. Spencer didn’t even try to hide behind his hands. They were too busy finding me and holding on with hands gripped tight with the soft fabric of my skirt. The one place that he knew he would be safe and understood no matter the barriers that might exist.

“I know that you just want the best for her,” I reassured him. My hands ran through his unruly hair that reminded me of our daughter’s to an uncanny degree. And it accomplished the same thing, too. Within a few minutes or necessary catharsis, Spencer was able to steady his breathing well enough to shift into a more comfortable position with his head against my shoulder.

“They don’t know what it’s like. To be just one thing. Every failure, every mistake… They seem like the end of the world when the stakes are so high,” he mumbled, “They become the only thing that matters. All that you are.” 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it to me,” I laughed. Cupping his face in my hands, I forced him to look at me to see how much I meant it when I replied, “I already know that you are a wonderful father.”

Then, in a weak attempt to prevent the tears that were already forming in his eyes, I pressed a hard kiss against his forehead.

“Let’s go see her. I’m sure she’ll have something to say about it.”

And Spencer laughed, too. A relieved, joyous sound that signaled an end to the spiral. When he sat back up, I took the time to help him remove his jacket unbutton the top few in the hope that it would help him understand that he was returning to the one place he would never have to be anything other than himself.

I think it worked, too, because by the time we made it home, the only evidence of the meltdown was irritated, tired eyes. Thankfully, our daughter was too happy to see us back to make any mention of them.

“Dad!” she shrieked, standing in her seat on the sofa and nearly toppling over the furniture to get to him faster.

“Hey!”

“You’ll never guess what I made while you were gone!”

“What is it?” he shouted back before scooping her up into his arms and hugging her just discretely enough that she wouldn’t notice how badly he needed it.

“A computer!” she continued, now waving an excited hand for me to approach, too. But Spencer stole her attention away again, with shocked gasps and an equally squeaky voice, “You made a computer?”

“It just counts numbers and does some very rudimentary formulas... for now,” she muttered with a mischievous sound that we would both ignore (for now), “But it’s really cool! Come look!”

So there we sat, as a full family tracking piles of redstone dust and switches flow across blocks on the screen. But every time our eyes got tired of the blue light, we would look just a few feet to the right to watch her bounce in excitement with a controller in her hand.

Eventually, watching wasn’t enough, and Spencer crawled onto the floor so he could pull her into his lap. She melted into his embrace like she always did, haphazardly and with a familiarity that almost made me jealous of their relationship. But then I would realize just how lucky I was to have them both in my life.

After she had settled back into the game, Spencer started to speak, slowly and with an astounding amount of vulnerability.

“Hey, how do you feel about the idea of you skipping forward a couple grades?”

“You mean… Like leaving my friends?” she asked without ever taking her eyes off the screen.

“Yeah, you’d be with older kids.”

She paused, taking a few seconds to consider the idea. Although I couldn’t see her face, I knew exactly the expression she made as she squeaked, “Eh.”

“What’s ‘ _eh_ ’ mean?” Spencer returned with an amused chuckle.

“Wouldn’t I be just as bored in fifth grade as I am in third?”

“Yeah, probably after a few weeks.”

Her little feet kicked the air as her whole body squirmed, obviously bothered by the topic but also knowing she would have to answer. With a very familiar sounding sigh, she continued, “And what about in a couple years? Will you let me date older people? They’ll be my peers.”

“A couple years?” her father responded with an ever-rising pitch, “Can’t you put that off until a little bit later?”

She did not relent.

“The heart wants what the heart wants, Dad.”

Spencer blew air from shaky lips that showed an enormous amount of restraint. “Within _reason_ ,” he warned.

That tone was always enough to make her laugh, which she did. But once that sound faded, she set the controller down on the floor and turned her full attention back to him before muttering, “I don’t know… It sounds like a lot. Older kids kind of scare me.”

“It’s not that bad. You get used to it. I’m sure you’d find friends. You’re very likable.”

“You’re my dad. You have to say that.”

“I don’t _have_ to,” he corrected with a gentle poke of her nose, “I just want to because it’s true.”

But there was still so much on such small shoulders. It was as obvious as the way her legs started bouncing just like his did when he was nervous. Even as Spencer tried to play with her hair or do anything that he could think to distract her from the nerves, her voice was shaking as she worked up the courage to finally answer, “No offense dad, I know you did the whole skipping grades thing but… It kind of sounds awful.”

I watched from my seat on the couch as Spencer’s smile stretched steadily over his cheeks. “I’m not offended at all,” he whispered, and I wondered if she could hear just how true it was. I wondered if she could feel the relief that washed over him with an answer as simple as _‘No thank you_.’ But then she spoke again, reminding us just how much she valued our opinion.

“I think I’d rather stay with kids my own age. At least for now.” Turning to look at me before scared eyes glanced up at her dad, she bit her cheeks one more time before muttering, “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” Spencer whispered back.

“Thanks. I was scared when my teacher brought it up.”

“It’s your life,” he insisted with both hands holding her cheeks the same way we always did, “ _You_ get to decide what _you_ want to do with it.”

And while it would take a while longer to decide what the real answer to that question would be, the immediate answer was obvious. She threw her arms around him just he had done to me, affirming my theory that as long as we had each other, everything else would be okay.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too,” he mumbled back into tiny brown curls before he let her go once more. But she stayed, burrowed in his lap while she resumed her game like the whole thing hadn’t happened. I think Spencer preferred it that way.

It didn’t take long for us to all get tired from the exhausting emotions, and within an hour we had all settled into bed. I’d almost forgotten about the conversation entirely before I noticed the way Spencer still flipped anxiously back and forth in our bed. I waited a little bit longer to turn off the light, opting to just wait for him to turn to me and explain what had him so worried.

The next time his eyes met mine, he let out a dramatic whine with the words, “A couple of _years_? She’s _seven_!”

I snorted at how he had latched onto the most trivial aspect of the night, making the executive decision to torment him just a little bit longer. “I’m pretty sure she already has her eye on a few candidates, you know.”

“I didn’t even notice romantic attraction until I was like… thirteen!” he blurted out. It was too funny not to keep laughing, repeating the eloquent way our daughter had asserted herself before.

“The heart wants what the heart wants, Spencer.”

“Well my heart wants to go to sleep, along with the rest of me,” he scoffed, flipping away from me for a minute out of his own stubbornness. Trying to avoid the inevitable. But when I flipped the light off, I heard him whisper again, “Couple of years… that child will be the death of me.”


End file.
